


Experimentation

by SilverFliesInBlueSugar (orphan_account)



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Abuse, Alastor is hella fucked in the head, Gen, Homicidal Tendancies, Implied Murder, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Self-Harm, Self-Mutilation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 19:08:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21593680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/SilverFliesInBlueSugar
Summary: How long did it take a human to die, compared to an animal?
Comments: 3
Kudos: 126





	Experimentation

"Sweetie, don't play with knives"

Alastor glanced up from where he was stood by the kitchen counter, pressing the sharp of a large knife against his fingetip. "Why? I'm not even hurt yet"

"It's the 'yet' that concerns me" she sighed, taking the weapon from his hands. He just looked confused, and plastered on a smile, as he always did when he didn't know what emotion to portray.

"Why don't you go play outside?" she pushed him slightly toward the door as she slid the knife back in the block. His smile twisted at that. 

"I don't much relish being around... The people outside"

She frowned. "Oh... Why?"

"I'm not sure what they want from me!" Alastor's brow furrowed. "We were playing tag and i pushed one of them hard, and he fell down. They all started yelling at me to say sorry, and i don't know why. It's not my fault he was easier to push than i thought!"

"Dear..."

"And they don't like how i smile" he scowled then. "You told me to smile, because it's power, and i know you're right. But they keep calling me creepy, but still say it's my fault for hitting them when they say it. It's ridiculous. Dad said you should hit people if they insult you"

"Dear." she said sterner, and he tensed. "If you hurt someone, you should apologise"

"Why?" he hissed. "It's not my fault. And even if i do hurt them on purpose, they deserve it"

"It doesn't matter if they deserve it or not. You can't just hurt people you don't like" she explained softly.

His expression was empty for a moment, and she knew he didn't understand when he gave her another wide smile. "Alright. Thank you for explaining"

"But-" she reached for him, and flinched as he jerked away.

"You should probably get dinner ready before dad gets home" he said calmly, never dropping the smile. "I'll be in my room if you want me"

"If i find that you've hidden another rat up there-!"

"No rat!"

He ran up the stairs, ignoring her laugh of disbelief as he closed his door behind him.

He wondered how long it took a human to die compared to a rat. They were both vermin, after all. A rat, after he had slit it's stomach open and removed it's eyes, typically only lasted a few hours or less. Would a human last longer due to size, or lesser for any number of reasons?

Fascinating.

He peered from his window at the children playing, and mimed slicing their heads off with his finger, grinning merrily all the way as the radio on his table began to play.

Tapping his finger against the windowsill, he considered how much he would bleed if he cut his hand off. Not that cutting his hand off would do him much good, but it was appealing the same. He had a meat cleaver under his pillow just in case he wanted to go through with that desire.

He chuckled as he wondered if he could eat the hand after.

Casually, he slammed his wrist sideways against the wall, again and again, until the pain made it too hard to move, and peered down at it.

Bruising already? Wow.

Now what if he slammed someone else's arm against the wall? Could he do it harder than he could do with himself? Since he wouldn't be affected by the damage, could he keep going with them until the bone was shattered? Into how many pieces could bones go?

With that thought in mind, he took a finger in a fist and inhaled slowly.

"I wonder how long it takes to break my finger!"

-

Downstairs, his mother rubbed at her own bruises as she stirred the pot, and grimaced at the thudding upstairs. Whatever he was doing, she would probably need to get him bandages for it. 

She'd never quite been able to stop him from hurting himself, even when hiding everything she could possibly think of him using. Eventually she gave up and told him not to do permanent damage. It was too much stress otherwise.

Still. Knowing he was likely breaking his leg or something right now wasn't a pleasent thought.

The front door opened, and her hand was forced into the pot.

_"I said to finish the food BEFORE i came home."_

-

Upstairs, with two broken fingers, Alastor chuckled at the screaming of his mother, and wondered how many slices it would take to remove his father's head.

...Couldn't hurt to test out that particular desire, actually. 

His fingers wrapped around the handle of the meat cleaver.


End file.
